


Lost

by Yods



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yods/pseuds/Yods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy's not entirely sure what woke him.  He <em>is</em> sure that he hasn't seen Matt for a while, and isn't interested in seeing him now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

Foggy’s not entire sure what woke him. He was used to sirens in the middle of the night, and screaming arguments and crashes against the wall. But now he lived in a nice apartment in a nice neighbourhood and none of that really happened any more.  
  
But there was the very definitive sound of footsteps from the living room. Great, the downside of living in a nice apartment in a nice neighbourhood is that people will assume you have something worth taking. He reached for his phone to call 911, and paused. The person in his apartment wasn’t making any attempt to be quiet. And there was someone who might conceivable just break in for some reason or another. Not that he really wanted to see him.  
  
Foggy sighed and shuffled over to the living room. The light in the kitchen flicked on. He took a couple more steps and stopped short. Matt wouldn’t bother with the lights. And whoever was there had to know he was up now, he hadn’t bothered with trying to be sneaky – what was the point with Matt, after all.  
  
He really wished he had his trusty baseball bat now. But he was up and whoever was there knew it. Best to just forge ahead. Foggy took a breath and went into the kitchen.  
  
Frank Castle was rummaging in his fridge. Shit. Wasn’t he supposed to be dead? What was this, payback for not keeping him out of jail? That wasn’t his fault, Castle tanked the case on his own, and Matt hadn’t exactly helped.  
  
Foggy cleared his throat. “Hi” What a ridiculous thing to say.  
  
Castle didn’t look up. “I haven’t seen red for a while.”  
  
“What?” What on earth was he talking about?  
  
Castle slammed the fridge shut and turned to him. “Your buddy, Red. I haven’t seen him for a while. Thought you should know.”  
  
He stalks off, brushing past Foggy as he leaves. Foggy doesn't bother to reply. The list of people he could be referring to as ‘Red’ was pretty short. Foggy stands in his empty apartment for a while, and eventually goes back to bed. This wasn’t his problem anymore, and he couldn’t do anything about it anyway.

  


* * * * *

  
The next morning during breakfast Foggy checks the Daredevil sightings websites. There’s nothing recent on there, but that doesn’t mean much. Besides, updates tended to be sporadic at the best of times. His gut churns and he leaves his coffee and the rest of the toast. He should just go to the office early since he was up. That was more productive than sitting here worrying.

_He wasn’t worrying._

Foggy manages to distract himself with work until the Joan comes in to tell him his 10:00 meeting was cancelled. He stares determinedly at his desk. He should prepare for his afternoon meetings. He should go over his statements for court. He should finish the paperwork of his last case. Foggy taps his fingernails against his phone in irritation and calls the number for what used to be Nelson & Murdock. It doesn’t dial, the number is disconnected.

He swallows, the heavy lump in his stomach hardening. Foggy makes another call and the receptionist at Atlas Investments tells him that the office has been shuttered for a while.

All that meant was that Matt had given up on his day-job, which was inevitable after all. There was no way he could Daredevil full time and keep the firm going on his own, and he had made his priorities clear. That was all.

He manages to focus on paperwork for another hour or so, but it’s pointless. Worrying about Matt had been second nature for him for so long that there was no way he was could just switch it off now. He tells Joan he was taking an early lunch and call for a cab to take him to Matt’s apartment. This was a terrible idea. It could only end in another blow-out argument.

Taking the stairs up to Matt’s apartment folds into memories of how many times he had done this. Going up to Matt’s apartment, worrying. Matt never let him know what was going on and he was always worrying. The staircase was still exactly the same as it ever was. Stained, cracked steps and ripped posters on the walls and a bannister too filthy to touch.

There is no answer at the door. He hesitates. Matt might not even be home. He tries his number and can hear the phone calling him from inside. _Foggy… Foggy… Foggy…_

This wasn’t what he wanted to be doing right now. He was supposed to be in his office, he had work to do. And his office was clean and climate controlled and pleasant. He didn’t want to be standing here in this grimy hallway. He banged on the door again.

“Matt, open up. Come on.” He didn't mean to sound quite that pleading. Why was he even here? After all Matt had decided that he wanted to go it alone.

Foggy made his way up to the roof access. The door was unlocked as always, the apartment perfectly tidy. As he walked down the stairs he became aware of a sickly sweet smell. He tried not to think about it too much.

There didn’t seem to be anyone home.

“Matt?”

No answer.

The living area was empty, as was the bedroom. The stench was getting stronger. He could hear a faint buzzing, like bees, _like flies_ , coming from the bathroom.

_No. No, that could mean anything._

Foggy started to breathe through his mouth to avoid the smell. He was panting more heavily now than he was when he came up the stairs. There was still time. He could still go back to the office and pretend none of this was happening. He slowly approached the bathroom, knowing what he would find.  


Matt is sitting on the bathroom floor. Foggy kept his eyes on the ground – he didn’t want to see him like this. Couldn’t possibly look at him like this. The pool of blood is bigger than he would have expected. It’s dried and blackened – Foggy is stupidly reminded of the colour of Matt’s glasses. He swallows a sob. The blood ran in the grouting between the tiles. It’s almost a checkerboard pattern. He very cautiously keeps on looking at the tiles. When did it get so cold? He was shivering, goosebumps all over. The flies were still buzzing – the sound was too loud in the small room.  
  
It wasn’t cold. It was too hot and he was going to throw up. Foggy took a step back and the world started spinning. He reach out against the wall to steady him. Staggering back made him look up involuntarily and he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the sight of Matt slumped against the wall, his head dropped to his chest, one bloodied hand in his lap. Foggy blew out a unsteady breath. The smell was nauseating, but not as much as breathing through his mouth in here. The air was too thick.  
  
Once the roiling in his stomach had quieted down a bit he dared to lower his head again and opened his eyes. Next to Matt were two envelopes. He took a couple of steps towards him and crouched down. His knees clicked. He carefully avoided looking at Matt’s bloodied hand in the blood-pool next to his hip. The skin was mottled. He wished he hadn’t noticed his wrist. _Along, not across._ Foggy looked away firmly.  
  
The first envelope had Claire´s name on it in Matt´s overly deliberate scrawl. The second, Karen´s, was speckled with blood spatter. That was it. He has a passing flash of jealous anger, but he can´t commit to it. He did leave, after all. Leave and break contact completely. He reaches out to pick up Karen´s note, but it sticks to the floor.  
  
It’s when he draws back his hand he notices that there´s a third envelope, closest to Matt and completely submerged in the pool of blood. Leaning in he can just make out his name.  
  
Foggy isn’t really sure how long he sat there. When he looked down there were teardrops on the naked tiles, mingling with blood. He wasn’t aware he had been crying. There had to be something less fraught to look at.  
  
Matt was wearing his grey sweatpants. From this close by he could make out the weave in the soft cotton. Foggy stared at the pattern until it blurred. Part of him thought that if he reached out to touch him, it would turn out this wasn’t real. It was just an empty shape in some clothing. He _wanted_ to reach out and touch him. To check that he was there. To reassure Matt that _he_ was there. A lone fly broke from the buzzing and ran up Matt’s thigh. Foggy snatched back his hand and stumbled back, colliding with the door stile. He didn’t stop until he reached the living room window and threw it open. Staring out the window was safe. He could breathe here.  
  
There were things that needed to be done. He called Brett and told him to come over and hung up immediately. He should probably have explained something about the situation.  
  
Foggy waited, looking out of the window. Every time there was a phantom creak or sound from the building he spun round, expecting to see Matt standing behind him. When there was finally a definitive sound his breath seized in his throat, but it was just a knock on the door.  
  
Foggy walked slowly over and opened the door.  
  
“What’s going on?! You can’t just…”  
  
Brett stopped suddenly. Foggy didn’t know whether he’d recognised the smell or just reacted to his expression. He walked dumbly back to the window and waved his hand in the direction of the bathroom. Brett’s footsteps behind him marched over to the bathroom and fell silent. Everything was quiet. The sign outside flashed from red to blue, and back to red.  
  
“Did you move anything?” Brett’s voice is softer than he’s ever heard it.  
  
Foggy shook his head. “I touched one of the notes but I didn’t pick it up.”  
  
“OK”  
  
Brett retreated to the hall. Foggy could hear some official-sounding phone calls. He couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it didn’t seem to matter much. Afterwards Brett joined him at the window. Foggy heard him inhale sharply a couple of times as though he were going to say something, but whatever it was never came.  
  
It didn’t take long before various uniformed people were scurrying around the apartment. Brett ordered them around. Foggy kept behind him and tried to ignore all of it. An officer stepped out of the bathroom with the three notes, each in a clear evidence bag.  
  
“No! You can’t take those.“ Foggy rushed in to grab them but Brett caught him by the shoulder before a scuffle could break out. There was an exchange of significant looks between Brett and the officer, but seniority wins and Brett hands the notes over to Foggy. He ends up clutching the bags to his chest. The officer looks disgusted.  
  
A metallic crash from the bathroom caught all their attention. Foggy turned to watch as a gurney carrying a black body bag trundled out. Foggy considered the thick black plastic. The ridiculous panicked thought bubbled up that it had to be dark in there. Not that it would bother Matt. He turned back to the window so no-one would see he was on the verge of giggling hysterically.

  


Once everyone has left Brett returns to join him at the window and nudges his arm.  
  
“You should go home. I’ll take care of things.”  
  
Foggy nodded. There were probably arrangements that needed to be made. “Thank you, Brett.” He doesn’t move.  
  
Brett ends up guiding him out of the apartment with a hand on the small of his back. Walks him down to the street and calls him a cab.  
  
“Go home, Foggy.”  
  
Foggy sits squirming in the back seat. He didn’t want to go home. What could he possibly do when he got there?  
  
It takes him a couple of phone calls, but he eventually finds what he is looking for and redirects the cab to a hospital in Harlem.

  


* * * * *

  
Claire is busy at the nurses station. He’s lucky, really. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might not be on shift. She looks up when he approaches, and her expression immediately shifts to somethings between concerned and irritated.

“Nelson? What’s going on?”

He hands over the envelope, unable to look her in the face. “It’s from…” He can’t finish the sentence. “You should probably wait ‘till you get home before reading it.” He makes sure he doesn't look up so he won’t have to respond to her expression.

He can hear her inhale sharply. “What happened?”

Foggy just turns and walks away. What could he say?

“Foggy?” She calls after him, but he was already gone.

  


* * * * *

  
Karen was easier to find. He stood outside her apartment for a couple of minutes pushing the buzzer. Nobody home. He can barely recognize his reflection in the glass of the door.

She answered the phone almost immediately. “Hey Foggy” Karen was clearly preoccupied. There was a rustling in the background.

“Hey. You’re not home, are you?”

“I’m in New Jersey, working on a story.” She didn’t sound distracted anymore. “Are you OK?”

Foggy wondered what she heard in his voice. He swallowed. “No. Will you call me when you get in?”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

This wasn’t something he could do over the phone. “Just call me, OK?”

He hung up before she could reply. It was a relief that he didn’t have to do this yet.

Foggy took Karen’s note, still in the evidence bag, out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands a couple of times. Then he folded the bag over the edges and pushed the whole thing into her mailbox. _No_ That was a terrible idea. The first thing she was going to find when she got home was a bloodied note with her name on it. He couldn’t do that to her. Foggy scrabbled at the mail slot to get the note back but he couldn’t reach it. He gave up. There was nothing he could do about it now.  


* * * * *

  
The note stuck to the inside of the evidence bag. It had taken him some trouble to get it free. And now the envelope, thick with blood, was lying on his kitchen counter, specks of blood scattered around it. He stared at it.

Foggy desperately wanted to read it, needed to read it, and was terrified of what it might say. Just staring at it was a good compromise. This was all that was left of him. The last he’d ever hear of him. And once he’d read it, it would be over. He was either going to throw up or start crying soon.

Foggy tried to open the envelope to get the note out but it was all stuck together in one solid lump. Flakes of dried blood clung to his skin and got stuck under his nails. He finally managed to prise his way into the envelope and get a grip on the note with his fingertips, but he couldn’t get it out. Trying to force it resulted in the paper crumpling. He let go with a jolt when he heard it start to tear. _No_ This was all that was left. His insides clenched.

He put the twisted paper back on the counter and went to get the sharpest knife he could find. He knew what to do. Carefully peel back as much as possible of the top sheet of the envelope, and then gently cut loose where it stuck to the note. Like skinning a carcass. One of his cousins was a butcher after all, he knew how to do this. Although the fact that there was actually blood, _Matt’s blood_ , on this made it more ghoulish than he was comfortable with.  
  
No matter how careful he was the knife still nicked into the page with every cut. Foggy’s hands started shaking and it ripped through layers of paper. He threw the blade down in a flash of temper. He couldn’t wipe the tears from his face because of the flecks and smears of blood on his fingers.

There was another option. He filled a basin with water, and gingerly placed the mangled note in there. With any luck some of the congealed blood would dissolve and he could unfold the pages. It didn’t take very long before swirls of blood started to run into the water. He shook the note gently and crimson eddies spread through the basin.

  
He could vaguely make out Matt’s handwriting in the cloudy water. How long did it take him to write the whole thing by hand? Matt never wrote out anything, apart from very short notes, because his handwriting tended to be illegible unless he wrote very slowly and deliberately.

He swiped the folded note through the water again. It had gone from a solid mass to actual flexible paper. Foggy could feel his heart speed up in anticipation - ever since Matt told him he could hear heartbeats he had felt stupidly self-conscious about what his heart was doing, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered now.  
  
Very carefully he dipped both hands into the bloodied water and unfolded the pages, minding the rips and cuts. He moved very slowly, very gingerly, not to tear this precious thing any further. Shook out the paper one more time to rid it of as much blood as possible and lifted it out of the water. Watched as the ink ran over the page and into the creases of the paper. It had smeared completely. The note was unreadable.

Foggy froze. He couldn’t move. He didn't know what to do. His heart was missing. His heart and his spleen and intestines and everything that was supposed to keep him warm from the inside. He was hollow and cold and there was blood on his hands.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually think that Matt would outright commit suicide after the events of Season 2. He's been through a lot, even as a little kid with no support network, and always came through. Not saying that he wouldn't be a mess, though.


End file.
